Exonerations
by double scotch.single malt
Summary: Post 2x09 one-shot. Story focuses on the emotional fallout that bubbles to the surface following the sudden death of Niels Sorensen.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Exonerations**

With his mind filled with perpetual uncertainty, a permanent state of bewilderment, Jeffrey Michener – _the de facto President of the United States_ – ambled down the p-way in the middle of the night, _alone_ , slipping inside the deserted wardroom to escape the circular nature of night time thoughts, the worst hours between one and four in the morning, tonight no exception, especially in light of the shocking death of that treacherous prick Sorensen.

Helping himself to a cup from the shelf nearby, he pressed it under the fountain and waited for his nightcap … his elixir. He exhaled and bent down to peek inside the lower cabinet, having mentioned to Master Chief Jeter his lack of seaworthiness (his perpetual sour stomach), the omnipresent chief let him know that there was a small store of crackers located here somewhere, and with a stroke of luck, Jeffrey found them now _– tiny bags of oyster crackers_ – he palmed a small bag and closed the cabinet.

Retreating with his wares now, he ventured into the deep recesses of the room, a darkened corner wherein he could wedge himself and be alone with his thoughts without feeling entombed in his _'presidential'_ stateroom. He sat down and let his eyes adjust to the darkness; a tiny bit of fragmented light came from the p-way, framing the double doors … and it was all the light he required.

Exhaling into the stale air, he opened the crackers and ate a few of the hexagonal gems in rapid succession – _chasing them down with a sip or two of the stomach-soothing ginger ale_ – and it was here that he paused, testing his intestinal resolve. Reflexive nausea rose to the surface within seconds … there was no change, no change since he'd been deposited on the Nathan James. His stomach churned, around and around it went. He set his feet firmly on the floor and breathed – _in and out, trying to rise above the nausea and think of the more pressing matters that confounded him_ – chief among them: how to become a presidential leader… how to survive without his family … how overthrow Sean's _'Immunes or Die'_ campaign … and …

… how to live with … and … exonerate himself from his demons.

Familiar depression cloaked him now and sitting completely still; he welcomed the distraction and let it consume him. Because he'd done unspeakable things that he had to live with now _– images of his family swirled in his head_ – his gorgeous wife on their wedding day over twenty years ago … his son at his high school debate championship … and his little girls and their squeals of unfettered happiness when they were little. All haunting him now akin to ghosts and therein he welcomed them – _because they were his taunts to have and to hold_ – they were his dark secrets to live with and he could blame his sour stomach on the Nathan James in perpetuity, but deep down … he knew that the root cause of the specific viral outbreak that encroached upon **his** family was **his** fault … and it was up to him to live with it.

 _And all the while now, sometimes Jeffrey could think of little else aside from his forefathers, those brave men that created this great nation in an effort to escape religious persecution in England … and how, a little more than four hundred years later, he – Jeffery Michener – almost became an enemy to this country … almost let those atrocities … the blatant extermination of healthy survivors, though not 'Immune' – perish under the Michener name._

 _His greatest weaknesses made him sick and no amount of forgiveness of his sins would likely ever redeem him enough in his own eye to completely exonerate him. He was a bastard. An imposter to himself now: a Lonely. Bitter. Stymied. Insecure imposter._

And it was here that Jeffrey stopped and thought of Tom Chandler and how emboldened he felt by this man – _marveling at his stamina and the professional way he guided and supported the Nathan James crew under maritime law and steadfast Navy protocol_ – and perhaps even more telling, how beholden the crew was to him. Now here was a great leader, despite the mistakes Chandler had intimated at in Dr. Scott's lab that night … the Captain was someone to hail to, without a doubt. He was someone to emulate – _a true survivor, not an Immune_ – just a man doing his best with the cards he was dealt … a man who accepted that his preponderance of sadness was no greater than anyone else's.

Just like Jeffrey's was – _for deep within his heart of hearts_ – he knew the world had been tipped on its side … he knew that tough decisions were being made everyday by ordinary people … all the time now. And that his tough decisions had been no different, except that those decisions he made from here on out … mattered to a great number of people. For now it was time, just like it had been for those great leaders before him … to rebuild … to give hope ... to earn trust. That was the message he hoped would be sparked in New Orleans – _that this was a time for recouping what was lost and what was fundamentally_ _ **theirs**_ – he sat up straighter still. Yes, to rebuild … cities … and hope … and trust in this great nation of theirs!

And it was here, poised upon this uplifting sentiment, this thought-provoking moment, alone and in quiet solitude on the USS Nathan James – _that Jeffrey Michener, finally felt slightly Presidential_ – and that he may be able to stay on course. And it was also here, deep inside this moment, that the double doors to the wardroom swung open, bringing with that forward motion, a flash of light and Dr. Scott's recognizable voice.

" _I already told you, Captain – I did it!" she shrieked into the quiet. "Of my own volition and of my own free will – I_ _ **KILLED**_ _him!" she shrilled._

" _God damn it!" Chandler cursed. "Why … why … why couldn't you just let this play out?" he growled at her. "You had_ _ **no**_ _right!" he judged._

" _No, no, no, I had_ _ **EVERY**_ _right!" she bellowed. "This man was a hazard to society, Captain! We know the facts and have known them since the Vyerni!" she shouted in defense._

" _Yes –_ _ **I**_ _ **KNOW**_ _– but you …_ _ **you**_ _don't get to decide who lives and dies, Dr. Scott!" he squared off against her._

" _And_ _ **HE**_ _does? Are you listening to yourself?" she demanded from her corner._

 _Everything was quiet for a beat – and within those seconds, a very broken hearted and slightly petrified, Jeffrey Michener wanted to step out from his dark corner and stop these two people – formidable people – whom he admired so … from doing further damage to their working relationship … because he knew already that no one was to blame for their decisions but the horrible circumstances they found themselves ensconced by … but he didn't. For he found that he couldn't move._

" _Captain –"_

" _Don't 'Captain' me!" Chandler snapped, a vacuum … a void detected in his voice._

 _Dr. Scott sighed into the silence and it was now that Jeffrey heard what he could only describe as pure anguish … a warbled, animalistic cry of sorts and it immobilized him in a way that reminded him of his daughter and the way she struggled as he strangled her to death in the middle of the night._

" _Captain … don't you see …," came her voice again._

" _I_ _ **don't**_ _… you took a man's life … premeditated …," Chandler deemed._

" _And you're … you're throwing me out to sea …," she sobbed, her breathing hitched. "Just … let me … explain," she defended._

 _Silence. A stalemate. Again Jeffrey almost stepped out of the darkness. But then, she spoke again._

" _I told him – on the Vyerni – that he had hundreds of chances to turn himself in … but he didn't!" she exclaimed. "Don't you see … how despicable of a person he was?" she incited. "I told him – that by adding his gene to the virus that he weaponized it – and when that ship went down and he saved himself … he didn't retreat! Don't you see, he was emboldened by his power, Captain," she exhaled. "Don't you see – he knew what he knew because_ _ **I TOLD HIM**_ _– before that, he was unaware that he was … Patient Zero," she explained._

" _You feel guilty," Chandler deemed evenly._

" _You bet your ass I do!" she retorted. "Don't you see now … he went from group to group of survivors just like he told you he did – he_ _ **took**_ _what he needed – and fell into Sean's lap wherein … he put people in harm's way …_ _ **purposely**_ _… to weed out the Immunes … he made stuffed teddy bears_ _ **infected with the virus**_ _for children, Captain!" she cried. "He developed the serum, in a warehouse …_ _ **contaminated**_ _… stuffed bears for innocent children and yet –_ _ **you**_ _…_ _ **you**_ _wanted –"_

" _I WANTED WHAT?" boomed Chandler, his voice rang out._

" _You wanted me to grant his wish!_ _ **TIME WITH ME!**_ _You said, he killed your wife and you stomached it! Talking to him! And you …_ _ **you**_ _wanted me to placate to this monster to get what I needed … and so I did it!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, her voice broken._

" _And then … what, you didn't need him anymore?" Chandler prompted, his voice barely audible now._

" _No," she stated firmly._

" _So what? To live on the Nathan James and know he was in the brig? That would have to be so terrible?" questioned Chandler._

" _Yes! Because he was a reminder!" she retorted hotly. "And maybe I don't need reminders, Captain … and maybe, maybe somewhere along the way …," she rambled on. "Maybe in the end … I realized I could not say_ _ **'no'**_ _to you …," she wept openly. "And because maybe I feel so guilty over the radio silence and all the tragic deaths … the crew … strangers I've never met … your wife and what that loss has done to you … and … my …_ _ **MY**_ _… sweet Michael …," she wailed, her anguish palpable. "And then there was my sweet mother who could not say '_ _ **no'**_ _to_ _ **me**_ _… for I … I had no choice …," she rambled on. "Don't you see … he was a reminder of my darkest moment …," she breathed. "I … Captain … euthanized my dementia-riddled mother … to get to the Arctic with some semblance of peace of mind … and l did that because I knew I would never be able to save her …," she confessed, her cries, muffled and strangled now._

" _Jesus …," Chandler whispered._

" _Yeah …," was all she said, her voice devoid of emotion now. "And so … … I got what I needed from him … I got what I_ _ **deserved**_ _from him … spending hours of time with him in close quarters, my skin crawling, my intellect challenged –_ _ **alone with him in his stateroom**_ _– because I had better results when he thought he was going to_ _ **bed**_ _me –"_

" _WHAT?" snapped Chandler._

" _You heard me!" she screamed, squaring off again. "I told you –_ _ **I. TOLD. YOU.**_ _– I wanted no part of him – I told you I could get what I needed from his blood samples – but you …_ _ **you**_ _made your order and I can't … for life of me, I couldn't figure out how to say no–"_

" _THIS IS_ _ **NOT**_ _MY FAULT RACHEL!" he growled._

" _And nor is it mine …," she countered in a low snarl. "Yes, I put an end to him, that was my doing – I put a stop to his terrorism – but he brought that upon himself … that is_ _ **not**_ _my fault … and we all have to take responsibility for our actions in life … yes, I killed him, but he was responsible for his own demise …," she said flatly._

And it was at this moment that Jeffrey Michener dared himself to step out of his protective darkness, finding the boxers in the opposite corner of the room – _his sour stomach in knots_ – Chandler standing with his arms akimbo and Dr. Scott seated on the sofa, looking up at him.

He approached them. "It's no one's fault," he deemed into the quiet, wherein two pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

"Mr. President …," Chandler breathed, his face laden with shock.

Jeffrey exhaled, breathing for the first time since the pair barreled into the wardroom. "How do you say it?" he wondered, looking at Chandler for signs of residual distress. "As you were …," he stated evenly.

Dr. Scott stood. "I –"

Jeffrey held his hand up to stop her. "Don't," he stated evenly, trying his best to allay her trepidations, her eyes bloodshot, puffy.

"I assume you heard everything," Chandler exhaled.

"I did … but, be rest assured, there is no judgment from me here …," Jeffrey answered, taking a seat in the armchair, motioning for them to join him.

Dr. Scott sat down across from him on the sofa where she'd been sitting before and Chandler sat next to her on the only open seat.

 _Now, eye-to-eye, Jeffrey pondered where to take this conversation – because if there was one thing he was well aware of – it was that there was no chance for a continued manufacturing of the cure without Dr. Scott and no safe passage to New Orleans (or anywhere else for that matter), without Captain Chandler. He exhaled and made eye contact with Chandler before he spoke._

"Dr. Scott," he addressed. "There is no doubt, in my mind anyway, that you were tormented by having to spend time with Sorensen – _I personally can't fathom that_ – and of course, knowing what you know and the semantics of it all, I can only presume it was worse than anything I could imagine … almost anything …," he ruminated. "And Captain Chandler … your points are also valid – _'thou shalt not kill'_ – it doesn't get any simpler than that … except that nothing about this particular scenario or the circumstances we are faced with are simple," he exhaled on the truth.

"What should we do here?" Chandler began. Straightening up, he asked more directly. "What should I do?" he prompted.

"What would normally happen … when there's a death on the ship?" Jeffrey ventured, choosing a route that might ease the Captain into his protocol, a safety net of sorts.

"An investigation would be launched," he replied, glancing at Dr. Scott. "Ensigns Miller and O'Connor were there, Sir … and will have to be interviewed, it's likely the entire ship is fueling the scuttlebutt already," he supposed.

"And my role in this investigation would be?" Jeffrey prompted.

"Well, in a court marshal investigation – _all evidence would be presented to counsel for both parties_ – and a decision would be made in a higher court and mandated to us here," Chandler explained. "Wherein, we would follow through regarding those orders relative to the case of the death of the sailor plus the fate of the accused," he surmised evenly, though this time, Jeffrey noticed Chandler avoided eye contact with Dr. Scott. "And … ultimately, you, Sir, would make those orders, given our current circumstances," he concluded.

Jeffrey pressed his lips into a thin line. "Well … being privy to your argument just now," he began. "Perhaps we should try to come to terms with the matter – _just the three of us_ – right now," he articulated. "Surely Dr. Scott doesn't need **more** cross-examination than she's already endured," he added. "Or a larger jury of her peers than you and I … whom sit with her presently," he went on.

If Chandler was surprised, he didn't let on. "I … I'm sure she doesn't," he acquiesced cautiously, his eyes softening around the edges slightly … his compassion returning.

"Good, so … Dr. Scott, does this sound amenable to you?" Jeffrey mediated, training his eyes on both parties before he began in earnest.

"Yes, it does," she whispered, looking down and away.

"Well, good," Jeffrey said at once. "Now … the one thing that came across _loud and clear_ to me is how much both of you care about one another – _and how guilty you_ _ **both**_ _feel over a multitude of decisions you've had to make because of the virus_ – and … Captain … you and I both know that I know what that feels like … to make decisions that change our character … that change the core of who we always thought we were …," he said, laying his cards out on the table. Dr. Scott stared at him.

"Yes, Sir … the challenges have been surreal …," Chandler sighed.

"Yes … they have … and as such I would like to know how … what **I** did is really any different than what Dr. Scott has done – _a mercy killing is a mercy killing_ – no matter how we slice it –"

"Sir …," Chandler warned, but his voice trailed off, for he had realized, put those pieces together himself now.

"A mercy killing?" Dr. Scott whispered, her eyes searching between the two men.

 _Jeffrey exhaled, so close to confessing to Dr. Scott about taking end-of-life measures for his daughters into his own hands – his own flesh and blood, killed via his own hands – surely Chandler would see now if he could live with Jeffrey Michener on the Nathan James and slowly learn to trust him as his Commander in Chief … that surely he could learn to trust his most valued friend, confidant, partner … Dr. Rachel Scott once again!_

"Yes … Dr. Scott," Jeffrey whispered into their confessional. "Something I am not proud of … but something I did out of a warped sense of love and protection, perhaps something close to what you did … for your mother – _a request set forth by my wife of over twenty years, I did this unspeakable thing to ease her pain_ – and lets just say my decision to do what had to be done … haunts me every moment of every day … a constant reminder … without a psychopathic madman like Sorensen to stare at …," he sighed.

"I didn't put an end to his life for **his** mercy," Rachel countered, her voice raspy. "But perhaps I did it for the mercy of the human race … I mean, can you imagine, there was only one place for him to live in the entire world right now – _one safe place and it was here, on the Nathan James_ – surrounded by a crew of people whose families died because of him," she stated strongly. "See … with everyone on board vaccinated with the cure – _he could do no physical harm here_ – but breathe **anywhere** else … **anywhere** , and he would continue to infect innocent people, struggling to survive … new life … babies … I just couldn't live with that reminder …," she articulated carefully, her eyes welling with tears.

"Dr. Scott …," Chandler muttered, turning toward her, his eyes searching … silently pleading.

She glanced in his direction and pressed on. "And I must mention, the mental duress and taxing emotions he evoked everywhere he went on this ship … it was obvious everyone was uncomfortable," she went on, her eyes wet. "And to make matters worse … the fact that I had to be in such close proximity – _I felt it was a true betrayal to myself_ _ **and**_ _to the crew_ – Jesus, the way they looked at me, the way they wondered how and **why** I needed him … it was so awful …," she wept softly. "I'm so … sorry …," she breathed, trying to collect herself.

 _The trio sat in silence for a short while then, each entombed in their own tirade of thoughts. Each replaying the argument, the killing, their collective decisions over and over again until there was nothing left to do but to press on and make another set of decisions._

Jeffrey cleared his throat. "Captain Chandler – _despite everything that has happened with respect to Sorensen's death_ – do you still trust Dr. Scott?" he wondered.

Chandler looked up from his folded hands and glanced at Jeffrey before he turned to Dr. Scott. "I do …," he declared, staring at her, his breathing hitched as a wave of relief seemed to encapsulate her.

"And, Dr. Scott – _can you say the same of Captain Chandler_ – do you still trust him?" he asked of her.

Dr. Scott sighed, relief reaching her eyes wherein she said, "I do."

"Good … then I believe my work here is done," Jeffrey surmised evenly. "Call it a my first _'Presidential Pardon'_ … or an exoneration … call it whatever you will … but know the truth in your hearts – _carry that with you_ – for no jury or trial or investigation could have gotten to the heart of this matter more clearly than how it has been hashed out, right now …," he summed up.

"Yes, Sir," Chandler nodded.

"We all do what we have to do in life … you do what you must do and you say what you must say – _because you care, deeply about what happens on the Nathan James_ – this is plain as day and goes for the pair of you …," Jeffrey exhaled, his eyes searching now before he stood. Captain Chandler and Dr. Scott rose as well. "I'm going to get my ginger ale and oyster crackers over there and then head back to my stateroom," he announced. "I'll leave you two, with just one more question to discuss amongst yourselves …," he sighed. "Do you think your relationship is salvageable?" he pressed on, asking the harder question now.

And with that Jeffrey bade the very flawed and truly heroic Captain Thomas Chandler and Dr. Rachel Scott a good night, watching now as they sat on the sofa and faced one another, listening to their quiet and more peaceful discussion as he gathered his wares in the darkness.

" _May I answer first?" Dr. Scott asked of Captain Chandler then._

" _Sure …," came the Captain's softer voice._

" _I do worry," she confessed. "I worry sometimes – I worry about how things have been different since we made landfall in Baltimore …," she exhaled._

" _As do I," came his heavy sigh._

" _I feel like things have come to a head several times but we always ignore the big white elephant … this element of our relationship that …_ _ **seems**_ _circumstantial but that I believe is more likely to be wrapped around our fate … or destinies combined …," she breathed, her eyes never leaving his._

" _Destiny …," Chandler whispered._

" _Yes … and for this … for this reason, I do so hope that this relationship we have is salvageable …," she sighed._

" _Me too …,"Chandler sighed into their shared space._

" _And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I killed Sorensen … but_ _ **only**_ _because I can see now how you see me differently … now that you know the extent of my demons …," she exhaled. "I just wanted him to stop … to cease to exist," she exhaled._

" _I know … so did I … I just …," he swallowed. "I'm sorry I forced you to … be with him, like that," he replied, his voice cracked. "And for the record – I'm disappointed that you did what you did – but I understand that you believed it had to be done …," he articulated carefully. "I was just so mad … so angry at what this whole thing has done to all of us … and I must say it now … I'm sorry about your mother," he exhaled, searching her eyes._

" _Me too," she answered; tiny tears cascaded down her face now. "Do you think things between us will ever be okay again?" she asked of him now._

" _I sure hope so … I trust that they will, over time …," Chandler answered softly._

" _Hope … sounds like a good start …," she exhaled._

" _Yeah … hope with trust … sounds like a new beginning …," he agreed._

And so as President Jeffrey Michener exited the wardroom now, slipping by his people, nodding in assent as he did … he felt those sentiments of hope resonate into his own thoughts – _feeling emboldened now by the ideas of hope and trust, allowing them to raise him up, to_ _ **exonerate**_ _him_ – fostering the ideals of the miraculous things that could be achieved under the guise of these two very important components in life.

Because that's what the American people needed now – _just what Thomas Chandler and Rachel Scott so desperately needed_ – they needed an inner voice of hope and trust and the unwavering knowledge that their leader embodied both traits and would do his best to provide them with a backdrop under which to achieve new and better greatness … with a clean slate.

 **END**


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